


End

by euphoricxdystopia



Category: The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Death, F/M, Graphic Description, Manipulation, Physical Trauma, Psychological Trauma, haymitch isn't dead dont worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 09:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16679092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphoricxdystopia/pseuds/euphoricxdystopia
Summary: Haymitch isn't a winner, not really





	End

**Author's Note:**

> this was for english class weeks ago, belive it or not. forgot to upload until now. also, i know this isn't how he won his games, but this is fanfiction -- so...

The jagged, sharp piece of broken glass skimmed across his hands from the ground—something that he felt rather than saw, since his eyes stung with the poison in the air, and everything was still very hazy in his disoriented mind. The glass cut deep into his hand when Haymitch gripped it. Warm blood ran down his fingers, almost comfortably, soothingly. The coziness it brought when he simply lay there made him want to fall dead asleep, or at least close his eyes, escape. But of course he wouldn't dare try, because Haymitch knew the fateful result that would lead to.

 

Though he deserved to perish along with the others he had killed – sacrificed in return for the chance of his own life –, he had come too far to give into this twisted game.

 

He felt his flesh tear open, and it was excruciating, exhilarating, but he didn't drop the piece. He only wrapped his hand around in firmer, making sure the blood and sweat would be impossible to cause it to slip away. This piece of debris—small, broken, painful piece of debris, however, was his only lifeline. It not only made his adrenaline serge to life again, or cause the pain to bring back lucidity, but it was his only weapon against this Tribute destined to kill him. 

 

Without even thinking, Haymitch rose from the smokey ground, makeshift blade in hand, letting the blood drain to the floor. It made him look powerful, he decided. The durability to withstand the hurt, the sheer determination to not succumb to his enemy, the need to fight for the chance to see everyone he loved bonding together with Haymitch’s whole being. 

 

He saw the girl, the other Tribute, the other child loom before him. She still held the used poisoned smoke bomb—some gift from the adoring sponsors, no doubt – in her hand. Haymitch still vividly remembered when it was set off, too. Not only hearing his own tormented shout as the acidic gas burned through his eyeballs, but the two other Tributes – his allies – who were agonisingly stuck helplessly into this war-zone, alongside him, and alongside her, too. His thoughts screamed inside his head that his friends were dead, that they were asphyxiated on the polluted air, and would never see their families again like they dreamed about.

 

Their deaths made his dreams a little bit more alive. He couldn’t let it go now, not when only one other person was threatening to take it all away.

 

Haymitch swallowed hard, focusing on feeling his heart beat through his hand, the warm blood continuing to taint the glass and ground. It flowed down his palm, his fingers, and distantly Haymitch wondered if it would ever stop, because, despite ditching numerous classes at school—basic biology, for instance—he knew blood was kind of important, to say the least. He learnt that from Andi, a Tribute that died with a spear embedded into his gut.

 

He also couldn’t see. His vision right now was just the mere outline of the girl he'd fought, and the stained, rocky ground. 

 

Suddenly he couldn’t see her at all, and the only people that broke though the hazy cloud in his mind were his sister, sitting alone at the table back home with and empty plate and an empty stomach. He saw his mother, crying as she looked at the one photograph he had of himself, and lashing out in anger or hurt so vividly that she shattered it towards the ground. He saw his father, walking alone to nowhere, forever walking with no objective, no destination and saw insanity. He saw his girlfriend where he saw with blood around her finger where there should’ve been a crystal ring, more expensive than the tallest building in the Capitol.

 

Honestly, he wasn't sure what had happened after that. Only remembering motions of what his body was doing, and the pain of his defensive breaking when the girl attacked him back. He suddenly had strength, and it didn't abandon him. The hurt of everything and the emotion he fought with made him stronger, made the instinct to live for his family glow brighter.

 

Haymitch hadn't realised the extent of his powerful slashes with the blade until now. The crimson brought him back to the present, and it tainted everything. He wasn't sure how much blood had spilled altogether, but definitely knew it wasn't just his. Though, Haymitch was pretty aware the blood on his hands from the glass was his own, it still felt dirty to think of. It felt wrong and dark.

 

A sickening thud sounded on the ground, possibly accompanied by the cracking of bone. He registered that his enemy – the 18 year old girl from District 1– had fallen to the floor, alongside himself, collapsed on his knees. It took a while to figure out why he was on the ground, too—why there was something wet dipping down his cheeks. He made one fateful decision to glance at the dead girl and that's when reality finally caught up to him. 

 

The skin on the other's face was completely inhumanly mutilated, the flesh wounds too bloody and bruised that they hid beyond his lost features. Haymitch remembered youthful, but cold eyes, peach cheeks, blond hair, but anything the girl once possessed was gone. The boy looked at his shattered hand that looked just as rabidly torn as the dead girl’s disfigured face, briefly noticing he wasn't holding the debris glass anymore. Instead, Haymitch found the piece violently ripped into the side of the girl’s neck, fresh, warm blood still leaking out in spurts. 

 

He never though himself to be as weak to the point of vomiting, but Haymitch Abernathy was truly mistaken. He'd seen gore before, witnessed death in these Games before, but nothing of the past week compared to his horrendous moment. He’d stabbed someone in the side with a knife, drowned another in the lake… but this wasn’t just murder, it was mutilation, it was a crime, he was _evil_. What he did, horrified himself, even more so since it was clear the slashes of self-defence morphed into torture and torture morphed into carving up a body well after death. 

 

Distantly, he could picture the young girl alive again, fighting for to see her bother, or her aunt, or her District, just as petrified by the bloodshed as Haymitch was. There was sweat bedded her his face, along with blood that could be his, or their allies’, or someone else's entirely. Wet tears mixed with dirt and all kinds of God-knows-what. Vaguely, Haymitch noticed the he was lying again on the ground, just as he was before he started sobbing. He heard a strangled cry or a heaving gasp or something awfully agonized, possibly back in reality. His brain just barely tells him that it's his. 

 

He doesn't know what to do anymore, how to react even if he could. Nothing but blood and darkness polluted the air, making in hard to breathe. He did that before to defeat a girl, someone he called an enemy because he was _told_ they were one, and that only left him with uncontrollable dread and fear and panic rolling around in his insides. The sensation of him being _used_ for a sick reality Game in that sort of way left a bad sense wrapping around him, constricting his lungs to feel like bodily confinement. It was nauseating, and worst, why did he have the feeling this dark energy sensation was only the beginning? 

 

Though he had won, he wasn’t the person returning to his family the way he had left them.


End file.
